


against loneliness

by flowercrow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra (Fire Emblem), Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Healing, Post-War, Short One Shot, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrow/pseuds/flowercrow
Summary: a short one shot / drabble, set after the war. claude/khalid has returned to almyra together with cyril and they have a quiet moment together. written from the perspective of almyra (yes, the country, personified), exploring their relationship to home and each other (platonically).
Relationships: Cyril & Claude von Riegan
Kudos: 19





	against loneliness

> _“Sometimes when I listen to old Persian music_  
>  _I get so sad I can smell rosewater.”_  
>  — Kaveh Akbar, _New World_

  


You dig your palms into the earth until your fingers are covered with it, inhale the scent of the sun-drunk grass, and I know you missed me the way one misses their mother: even if she broke your heart sometimes; here, after being gone for too long, you wish to fill the space between your ribs with all that is her. They called me Almyra, and you corrected in your head: _Tadmur, Tadmur_. What kind of name is Claude, anyway?

How lonely was it, to not be known? 

“Do you have the rosewater?”

“Yeah,” Cyril says, pulling the vial from the bag. You pull your hands out of the earth, pat it off, and open your palms. Cyril pours some into your hands, careful, and you murmur a prayer of thanks and rub your palms together, the backs of your hands to your jawline. You take the vial and meet Cyril’s eye — there is that hesitation, again; it will take time, both of you know. He opens his palms, too. You pour for him. Everything smells of rosewater now, and sumac is growing in the shrubs behind you and the sparrows are loud like fanfare and the sun pours over you and I hope you can think of this as me saying: welcome home, Khalid, your battles were so long and manifold but you have endured it; peace upon you, welcome home. 

“I still don’t know,” Cyril says, after a gap of silence, “if this is a good idea.” 

Cyril’s wounds are different from yours. Before you got here, he cried in the city, as the voices rose and fell around you, the language a pull at the heart and no pairs of eyes at the back of his neck, and he blamed this on the dusty air. 

“Give it a chance,” you say, grinning, as you have said many times before. “We’re going to build something better, together. If you’re willing.” 

I am not asking for forgiveness. I am never more and never less than what you make me. You, meaning: all of you, the thousands of you. So many lives! So much sorrow and joy! I hope you begin to understand, now, Khalid: it isn’t your burden to carry. Not alone. 

From here, Khorasan, city of the sun, is far away, though you can still see the tops of its buildings. Closer to you is a small village where used to live a neene who used to hide you in her hut sometimes, back when you were small and feral, and taught you of her herbs and plants. She’s passed and you’ve given your prayers. 

“I wouldn’t be here, if — “ Cyril starts, and falls to silence again.

I will give you a hint, though in your heart you already know: he means there was nothing left of him but debt and abject gratitude, and now he is returning to himself and it is terrifying and beautiful. 

“Nar!” you say, like an epiphany, and pat his shoulder. “They have promised us pomegranates and persimmons and baklava. Sweet heavens, let’s go.” 

Cyril exhales as you help him to his feet. “I haven’t had baklava in forever.” 

You laugh, hearty and hungry, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “At the very least,” you hum, “your tastebuds will thank you for your decision, my friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this weird piece! i think khalid and cyril deserve better, and i love them, and this was a very self-indulgent lil thing. 
> 
> the distinction between almyra / tadmur came from thinking about the ways things are named from the outside vs. the inside, and bc palmyra (which almyra was very likely named after) is called tadmur in arabic.
> 
> the idea to use almyra as the narrator came from the fact that i wanted to write in second person & i'd recently read 'the city we became' by nk jemisin, which is essentially about personified cities.
> 
> i sure talk a lot for such a short piece. lmao


End file.
